Mutant market
by Belledonner
Summary: in the hidden city beneath central there is a place known as the Transmutation market. it is only told in storys, as legends of the rarest ingredients and chimeras known in only alchemists wildest and darkest dreams. but what if this 'market' turned real.
1. high orders

**chapter one: Mutant market.**

**AN:** This was inspired by an original I wrote, if I get a lot of reviews I am thinking of perhaps going on with my original, because at the moment I am not certain if its worth the effort.

If I don't get any reviews, then I won't post new chapters. It's as easy as that. Like it? REVIEW IT!!

Thanks, it means a lot that you're reading this.

Disclaimer; they own the neighborhood, I just rent the house –though the land lords must hate me cause I continuously screw with their characters and vandalize the town-

XX

Belledonner.

* * *

The sound of heavy footfalls echoed through the office long before the doors were flung open to emit the entourage. Though this was not a surprise; at least not to the flame alchemist.

"General Mustang?" a deep voice intoned as Fuhrer Bradley stepped forth from the group of armed soldiers that served as his entourage and loyal flowers that would only answer to him.

Without shifting his eyes from the Fuhrer's solitary orb, Roy automatically calculated the men behind their leader; their numbers, weapons, blind spots, weaknesses, rank, attentiveness. Reading his slim chances if open fire was called in the rare occurrence that someone had let his true loyalties slip in the wrong ear.

"Yes sir!" Roy said in a voice that allowed none of the emotions he felt through, all they would hear was a man devoted to his state and loyal to his king, even if this was not the case. To them he was the faithful lapdog he had made himself out to be.

"These are the direct orders for you and your subordinates." The towering man before him said, his voice just as void from unsightly emotion as Mustangs own. Bradley held out one tanned hand as his secretary stepped forward and placed a stack of folders in his palm.

_Nothing good ever came of paper work._ Mustang thought gloomily, knowing well enough what was in these particular documents and what the Fuhrer's next words would be, even as the tall man turned to face the rest of his office, where his subordinates were looking on with a mixture of emotions mingled with strong suspicion and undenied curiosity written in their eyes.

Riza, her rust colored eyes were full of wariness and respect deserving of the Fuhrer, never wavering. Across from her, Falman's gray, unflinchingly calm, if slightly harder than usual were trained with Riza's on the Fuhrer. Beside him, Havoc's light blue were nonchalant, and though careless though he may seem, the tight lines about his mouth and brow told otherwise, along with the way his eye's darted back and forth from Roy and Bradley. Slouched in the chair besides him, Breda's were darker with suspicion, furrowed under heavy red brows. Rigid straight across from him, Fury's blue gray gaze was brimming with panic and a bravery that most did not know he possessed, ever focused on the Fuhrer, a threat, in his eyes, to his General and hero.

But the molten gold glare that was directed not to the Fuhrer with the others, but to Roy himself, these were the only eyes Roy would let emotion his own show for, eyes that told of the fury that was sure to come if Roy was to blame for this stop in. But threw the glare Roy could see the worry that lingered and the way his fingertips brushed with anxiety against identical metal ones.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is with haste and great importance that I inform you all of your debriefing." Bradley began, his eye roaming over Mustang's subordinates with clear disdain. "Over the past several months we have noticed that there is a consistent disturbance in the Forbidden City. A market, much alike to the black market, except dealing exclusively in rare transmutation ingredients and live chimeras. This particular market as called by witnesses 'The Transmutation Market', though it is more commonly known as the 'Mutant Market.' We have reason to believe that this market is a threat to the military and the state, and so, this unit will be sent out with selected armed soldiers and alchemists to apprehend the ringmasters and close this Transmutation Market. Are we clear on this General?" the Fuhrer asked in even tones that suggested this was not a question at all, but an order. With a click of his heels the Fuhrer was turning once again to face the stoic mask the General held firmly in place.

Mustang's eyes narrowed the slightest bit, the only movement on his pale face as he watched the man before him, his 'king'. But Mustang knew better than to trust his lulling words, though his voice was deep and smooth of all traitorous emotions, as though the words he spilled were nothing but truths; that they were merely going on a simple mission; even if all present knew they were not. Bradley would not dare send trained state alchemists into a zone that was claimed a mere 'disturbance'.

"As crystal, sir." Roy said in strict tones, his posture as stiff as his words from where he stood in his position behind the large oak desk. "When are we to be posted, sir?"

"I expect you to be in formation by noon Monday, three days from now, this should give you ample time to prepare your stocks as you are not expected to leave the Forbidden City till the mission is successfully completed. Any more questions you may have, the answers will be found in your debriefing papers, if there are any still unanswered then you don't need to know such information." With those parting words the Fuhrer exited the crowded office, his entourage marching in ridged formation behind him.

The sharp staccato of boots hitting marble had long since faded into the distance before Roy let himself breathe, breaking the complete silence that had befallen those in his command.

Roy had once heard of this market, it was said that it was a fools hope to see its wears; that those who sampled its foods would fall addicted. That if you were to purchase an item, you would ever be in debt, as the cost was dearer than life itself. He had heard stories about the chimeras created there, about the new arrays made to do anything the imagination thought up in its wildest and darkest dreams. The miracles that came from its depths, along with the horror stories that so often accompanied them, he had merely passed these off as folklore. He had thought it myth, a legend told to children before they went to bed so they would only do well with their alchemy. He had thought it nothing but a dream place.

It was an alchemist's greatest dream. One told as the greatest nightmare.

* * *

"Madame?"

"Yes?"

"Mustang's unit have been called in, as promised. They are expected Monday at noon."

"Ah, very good. You may go tell the Creator to prepare. Dismissed. "

The young man darted off through one of the many dirt pact corridors leading from the dim room. A smile graced her pale face and the girl in her arms flinched back instinctively.

She tutted, moving to brush the stray hairs from light blue eyes, running a long nail across the pale cream flesh of her face. Blood blossomed along its trail, but the girl in her arms made no noise. It was one mistake in her creation that turned out to be of greater use.

The young girl felt no sensation, could not feel the bite of her nail as it bit through her flesh and wept a strange dark blood.

She would be the perfect body.

* * *

AN;if you like it and want to read more, three guesses what you might have to do?

R&R to read more!!

thanks a bundle!

xx

Belle


	2. a slip in the information

**AN: hi,**

**this chap may seem pretty event-less, but trust me, the action is coming! this is more of a lead up to get all the info onto the playing feiled!**

**well every one enjoy now!  
**

**disclaimer: i dont own the neighborhood, i just rent the house.  
**

**Belledonner~  
**

"Give me everything you have on this so called 'transmutation market' stat

"Give me everything you have on this so called 'transmutation market', stat." Roy barked out as he walked through the door to lieutenant Colonel Hughes office, startling Sheska so badly with his sudden entrance her hand slipped on the paper filled desk and sent her face to the wood and sending hundreds of flyers scattering into the air. He continued through the flurry, straight to the green-eyed man behind the large oak desk covered in too many photo frames.

"Well they always say you know how to make an entrance. So what's this call in for, hmm? Surly it can't be a social call, can it?" said Maes, his usually chirpy demeanor dampened by the slight seriousness in his usually flippant tone.

"Not now Maes, and you know _exactly_ what this is about. So save the memo and get straight to the information. NOW." Mustang growled over the desk he had slammed his palms into, sending another avalanche of paperwork plummeting from the desk and littering the floor, (And why –why- wouldn't _his_ desk do that? It would give him an excuse to waste _hours_ while picking them up and re-ordering…must be Hawkeye conspiring against him...) Sheska gave a startled shriek and began to hurriedly gather the spilt papers and documents from the floor barely noticed by the furious General and the lieutenant Colonel.

"Well since you're in such a _lovely_ mood." Maes said as Sheska pushed a file into his hands from the mess covering the floor, he passed a nondescript folder across the desk; brimming with loose fliers, paper ends sticking out from all the edges. It was quickly snatched out of his hands by the General, who calmly leaned against the desk and began to filter through the information; sifting the junk from the jewels in amidst the crap.

"This is all useless; inconsistent rumors and child folk lore, nothing of any substance, why would the military have any cause to attack an empty under ground city when all these reports show that this particular legend known as 'mutant market' disappeared off the written map rather suddenly over a century ago?" he mused, eyes scanning the page intently, and though his posture assumed otherwise, his mind was completely immersed in the information written across the page.

"Well, if you had given me a moment to explain," Hughes said with a long suffered sigh as he began to place the paper spilled back onto his desk, waving off Sheska, "you would see that all that's in that file is completely unreliable, the _problem_ is all records, even passing mentions and mere stories, have been taken from all record books, not even a mention in any library since a certain date." His green eyes gleamed with the intelligence that had gotten them both into so much they shouldn't have even known about, the intelligence that promised that if there were something to be found, Maes would go to the ends of the earth to drag the secrets from their roots, all just to prove a point. For all his goofy exterior, he _was_ in Intel for a reason after all, " But that doesn't mean that the market dose not exist," he continued after a dramatic pause that only added to the frustrated energy that lingered taught in the book crowded room, " its just puts more stock into the spoken word rather than written text. I mean, think about it, books can be burnt or torn up, even deteriorating and dissolving by time and water, but the spoken word? Well that can live for thousands of years without tiring, the only way to truly get rid of a legend or myth is to kill an entire race of people, but even then the stories leak through, told by the soldiers that were sent in to exterminate, the lucky people who managed to escape."

"If all this information is so reliant on rumors, how can we know there's any truth in it?"

"In the hart of all rumours there is always a grain of truth, some sort of spark to start the fire. And in any case, if this 'myth' hase been said to change with the stories, not the other way round. Say, first there might be a rumour about gruesome alchemy of some form, next thing you know all reliable sources are telling you this market is doing that. Its almost as if this 'Mutant Market' feeds on the fear of the stories and the awe and respect they insure."

"Interesting, like the market is evolving to match the rumours as they get wilder, but what's the point? To create a mystique around the forbidden market? But they've already achieved that…" he muttered half to himself, his deep, almost black eyes seeming to swim with perplexity in their inky liquid depths. His head suddenly snapped back to his friend, all emotion that had showed in those unique pools gone along with every trace that might mare his porcelain face. "Was there an extermination, another massacre? I suppose it was all very hush hush, no?"

"When was the first time you ever heard the story, Roy?"

"I was a kid, five, six maybe seven years old. My mother told me that story to try and prevent me from attempting alchemy, a good story for that peropus." he answered the unexpected question with a raised eyebrow as his eyes drifted once more to the text bled across the white page in a great smear of flowing black ink that formed the legible words of the information this mission was depending on. His dark bow, about the only emotion he would show to the surprise that was only evident in his voice if you concentrated deep into the barren tone nadir. "Now, are you going to tell me there was a reason for that question?"

"So this is how I figure it might have happened; your mother hears rumours about some supposedly hushed up alchemy market, hears it and twists it a little to suit her own purpose and tells it to you. So the whole purpose of you being told was in fact because your mother was frightened, but of what? Either way, it turns out that your whole family was verbally spreading a tale the military had killed to prevent. But why? What's worth such high costs?"

"But where do the military even come into this whole mess?" Roy murmured, his dark gaze shifting from the text to glare into Maes' own as his question answered Maes' and left them with nothing but yet more puzzles and no clues as to how to play the game appearing before them in the illusion of the forbidden and legendary fruit being found, something that is supposed to be fabricated by the very imaginations of those who would seek it was now established to be perhaps something even more real than life itself; because what is life but a state of consciousness your brain tells you is reality…

"From the missing records" Maes winked, "I have found out some rather intriguing evidence. It seems that there was a fairly large under ground village up near Xing, famous for it's underground tunnels and lively festivals. It was supposedly called Yalek, the people were reported to be 'lively and creative, but all too religious and prone to gossip'," Maes quoted from a sheet he held before his square framed glasses. "But ya see, the funny thing is, these people weren't religious to a god, in any shape or form. They were devoted to alchemy, but not the sort used today, but darker sort, the type that involves blood sacrifices and such. And even weirder still, they worshiped something called the 'Equivalent Shifting Gate' something that apparently was what gave them the energy to transmute."

"Ok, so now were hunting a ghost market filled with virgin sacrificing worshipers?"

"Well that's the thing, Roy, these people were rather social if my records count up, apparently they held festivals on massive proportions. Everyone came from across the land, and though thousands arrived, only hundreds came out, some carrying with them the strangest and most beautiful gifts, some bearing marks and unnatural speed, agility, strength or even mutations that were not theirs before. They came back rich beyond their wildest dreams, all claiming it was worth the risks, worth the exchange they made. These people were revered as gods. Even to this very day, in fact the prestigious Armstrong line is said to be one of the first households to be turned from poor farm house to a mansion on manicured lawns in barely a week after the heroic return of great, great, great, great grandfather Armstrong."

"So the military were sent in to exterminate a colony of alchemists that used humans in transmutations and culled thousands of people, right so far?" Maes gave a slight nod and Roy proceeded, "the people who survived the extermination fled to closer towns were they spread rumours and tales, even wrote books. Then a while back all books and records were suddenly missing. So my next logical question would be, when was the date of the last written text sighting?"

"Around four-hundred years ago, give or take. About, say, one-hundred-and-fifty or so years after alchemy was officially named a science and alchemists weren't killed on sight for preforming the 'atrocity'. It was also about two-hundred years after the disappearance of Yalek, in what is told as a terrible 'natural' collapsing of the tunnels, crushing everyone, no survivors."

"Anything else you would like to inform me of before I leave?"

"Just two little details you might care to know," Maes leaned back in his chair, feet on desk and hands intertwined and cushioning his head behind him, the complete posture of one comfortable and relaxed in his surroundings. " The first- alchemy only started appearing _after_ the colony began to have their 'festivals', about eight-hundred years back, and all of those who have had the gift since seem to have at least some sort of blood relation to one of the people who came out of the underground fairs alive, alive and _changed_. The seconded and probably the _most_ important is this- its Elysia's birthday soon, and I _know_ she would just _love_ a souvenir from the under-,"

Roy scowled as the door slammed back on its hinges. The bunch of papers curled in his loose fist were beginning to smoulder slightly, their edges browning and curling, tiny sparks, still not yet lit to flame speckling the crisp and crumbling edges. And still his other hand could not stop his middle finger and thumb from rubbing aggravated; causing sparks to dance up the edges of his glove, barely falling dark before hitting the ground.

"Brother?"

"Hush up, Al."

"Why are you packing? Where are we going?"

"I _said_ hush up!"

"Brother- tell me!"

"Fine! I am going to some stupid underground city that's supposedly empty but the stupid Fuhrer is sending the whole stupid office down as well as specially trained alchemists! So it can't be empty! But what's down there?" He mused to himself as he absentmindedly kicked off his boots and slouched back into the lumpy bed, which groaned in protest of his weight. His half packed suitcase tumbled to the floor with the shift of weight, spilling his rumpled and creased cloths out onto the cold wooden floor. "So now I have to go and do their dirty work –_again_- all because of some stupid market that isn't even supposed to be real! I mean how can it? You've heard the stories, Al, ya know, the ones about a market under the earth that holds everything an alchemist could ever dream off…its total nonsense! Complete and utter bullshit. The Bastards senile if he's gonna let us be taken down there on the whim of the _another_ senile old coot. But what can you do? Eh? I mean he _is _the Fuhrer, even if all he dose is order brainless soldiers to war and doesn't even _try_ to avert from the massacre it creates; stupid stupid stupid, I think –think- that he could quite possibly be more idiotic than Mustang, is that even possible? I never thought I'd see the day…"

"Are you done?"

"Ugh, yes." Edward snapped to the ceiling, muttering half formed sentences under his breath about who _should_ be running the state, and a whole heap of curses that his rather imaginative mind produced with its endless brilliance.

"So, when do we leave?"

"Three days! We need to go to library, cant tell if we're gonna get the chace for a while now," ed said swinging his legs over the side of the creaking bed and throwing a wad of papers at the same time, "those are my briefing stuffs." He said motioning to the scattered paper around the suit of armour that sat against the bed opposite him and made the bed sag to alarming lengths.

"And that would explain why you packing now…?" Alphonse muttered as his glowing orbs that served as eyes tracked the writing across the page, his youthful voice echoing in the hollow tin that was his body and held his life and sole.

"Because, if I don't do it now your gonna pack it for me when I forget. You mother hen." He said back, kicking some of the spilled cloth under the bed with the toe of his metal foot, trying to block out the way his brothers laugh sounded so empty as it spilled from the inanimate helmet that showed nothing of what his brothers personality should show. He deserved better, ed knew, and there was still that promise to keep, and with this new lead, however idiotic it may seem, he was one step closer to loosing everything and gaining something so important he would smile on his way out.

He was not stupid; he knew the price he would have to pay, even with the philosopher's stone.

"It seems that our informant gave away a little too much information."

"Ah, it will just make them all the more hungry for the 'truth', they will undoubtedly come, especially those Elric boys; they could not resist any of the other leads we have left out for them, this one shall be no different with the temptation of the philosophers stone."

"If you say so milady. They are due in two days time, on schedule"

"I trust every thing on our end is as I asked? And has the creator changed his mind on the form?"

"Everything is ready. Unfortunately the Creator seems unwilling to change their bodies to suite your needs and wishes. And regrettably we have also just come across a minor set back with your dolls."

"Well, he certainly is lucky for being so useful to our cause. Now, the problem, and just what would that be?"

"The creator has been delayed, the dolls are not stable enough yet and on the scale you wish them to be produced, there was bound to be mishaps."

"Well make sure this is the last problem we come across, wont you?"

"Y-yes milady."

"You are dismissed, and if I were you I would get to work, I would hate for all our plans to be ruined by a slight misunderstanding."


	3. first encounter

BELLE: hey all, sorry for the lateness, i know, its depressing.

ok, without hessitation, enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: they own the neighborhood i just rent the house.

* * *

"So this whole place was lying under central this whole time?" Fury asked as he peered out over the wreckage of a city lost to times decaying whim.

"It was discovered a few years back by a lady by the name Amoi Fray," Mustang said in a low voice that bounced off the high sloping walls as he motioned his unit further into the mess of unmarked, narrow streets between the tall shadows of deserted and shambling houses. "Or so she claimed; it was obvious to the soldier she babbled to that she had clearly dropped of the deep end. But that was back before fuhrer Bradly, when Alios Warren was in charge and things like this just slipped under the radar. Nobody looked into this, not even when Miss Fray disappeared."

"An unsolved mystery?" Breada asked, fear coloring his voice in a slight tremble as he side skipped a piece of rubble suspiciously an jumped a foot in the air when Edward tapped his neck.

"Yes and no. She apparently left a note saying she would never be seen in central again. So really there was nothing overtly suspicious about her disappearance, just another mad woman missing. The records were just slipped under the rug."

a gun shot rang out, the sharp noise shattering the deathly quiet.

Mustang reacted a second too slow, fingers finding grip before his eyes could find target.

Hawkeye was the only one who saw the curtain twitch.

The only one who saw the girl with a bullet wound through the shoulder and kneecap limp away from the window without a mutter of pain.

But she wasn't the only one who reacted.

The clap that sounded, almost as sharp as the shot in the stillness- everyone waiting for a noise to alert them of the persons whereabouts. Blinding light seared through the gloom, casting stark shadows as looming walls soared upward to his will, surrounding the small house and its inhabitant.

Mustang hadn't moved, fingers poised to snap but still no target, the range was too wide, the angle difficult to get any real aim.

Havoc had dropped the supplies on his back, gabbing a rifle and scrambling up a crumbling wall to a shelf from a broken window, taking sniper position at the window Hawkeye was glaring at, her own guns raised to the ready before anyone else had time to move.

Fury had taken cover behind a mound of debris, trying franticly to load the gun he refused on grounds of personal safety to keep loaded.

Breada had also dropped his supplies, and was rummaging through them, it seemed, to find the flare gun; so the other units in the abandoned city would come tho their aid.

But it was pointless, the walls were to high fo the flare gun to be seen. The alchemical transmutation light would have traveled anyway, anyone who might have seen it would have assumed, but it was too late anyway.

Hawkeye was already on the move, mustang and Ed at her heels.

The door swung inwards on hinges stiff with unused, a high pitched wine cut of sharply as the dor hit the inside wall. The sluggish light illuminated only a few feet into the long corridor, the rest lay in menacing darkness.

Weary of the noise, the three soldiers kept to the walls. The wooden floor beneath them creaked softly with every step, giving away their position and their advantage.

Further into the darkness they crept.

Barely distinguishable in the darkness, a shadow moved.

The floor creaked.

The small group walked down the road, she watched.

From her vantage point above, crouched on the table behind rough and musty curtains, peering through he dirty glass of the chipped window. She watched the dark haired leader, so obviously in controle, leading the way; the small blond with golden hair and a dangerous gait of underlying power and pretty eyes. The beefy red head who kept avoiding the deepest shadows and glancing over his shoulder. The shorter brunet, adjusting his glasses and peering at everything in close examination with intelligent eyes. A gray haired man who's posture was stiff and seemed to keep everyone else under his eye at all times. And a light haired woman with a heavily loaded holster and eyes that continuously darted over the area searching for a threat.

Or perhaps her.

She had not been sent to wait here, she had decided the risk necessary not even the Mistress could stop her.

She had done that.

She had decided to simply observe. She was doing that.

They walked a little further down the street and the girl craned her neck to get a better view of the disappearing group, forehead pressed against the glass to peer further down, straining on her hands and knees so as not to fall and alert the soldiers.

The table wobbled, she flung her arm out to the side to stop her fall, grasping the rough, musty fabric of the curtain to slow her fall.

The curtain held and she struggled back into place on the table, hoping her near fall had gone noticed.

She glanced out the window again, sighing in relief as she noticed nobody had changed or looked up yet.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes slipping from the leader of the group.

Straight into the rust brown eyes of the alert gun-woman.

She heard the shots but never felt them.

She knew where they had lodged themselves, one in her shoulder, left kneecap and buried in the wood beside her right ear. She knew instinctively the one beside her ear was a warning shot. She scramble down from the table and limped into the safety the shadows so lovingly gave, they welcomed her. Enveloping the small girl in their folds of darkness until she was all but invisible.

She crept down the old wooden stairs, moving crab-like with her feet through the banisters slats so the creaky floor boards would not give her away. At the bottom she dropped to all fours, distributing her weight and minimizing target area, creeping across the floor and hugging close to the mold smelling wall.

She watched the three figures worm their way down the narrow corridor making so much noise it was impossible to think that they might have ever had the upper hand.

Except they did.

She held no weapons to use against them, nothing to protect herself. She could not fight in this body so wounded. There was only one exit, and the soldiers were blocking it the others outside would surely capture her if she manged to give these the slip.

She could feel the blood from her wounds soaking through her cloths and coating her skin in a sticky layer, making the floor tacky and slippery, staining the light wood. Her life blood was flowing out of her wounds to quickly.

She had to make a choice.

Fight or flight.

She couldn't fight, not in her current condition nor ever.

If she ran she would be captured and probably killed.

She couldn't hide, they would find her eventually.

But there was more that one type of flight available to her.

Breathing deeply she cleared her mind, preparing herself; dipping her fingers and drawing a hasty array on the palm of her hand.

She lunged at the figure closest to her.


End file.
